The Lion and the Wolf
by PrincessFabala
Summary: Sansa and Tyrion are forced to consummate their marriage... Rated M for smut (9/10/15 - Slight editing done on all chapters)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Tyrion and Sansa actually do consummate their marriage. This story has been posted before, but I've done some heavy editing and made it a bit better, though I'm still not entirely happy with this chapter. This will be a three-shot, but there's only smut in chapter 2.**

 **Disclaimer: Game of Thrones isn't mine.**

* * *

"Tyrion, if a Lannister babe is not growing in that girl by the time the year is out, I put one in her myself! Am I clear?"

Lord Tywin was calm, as always. Tyrion had always found his father's level tone maddening.

"Yes, Father,"

He had sworn to Lady Sansa that he would protect her, always. But he could not see any way that he could talk his way out of this. This threat, perhaps promise would be a more appropriate word, changed everything. Tyrion hoped his marriage to Sansa would go unconsummated forever. She was unspoiled, innocent and well, he was a disgusting cripple who had fucked hundreds of whores over the years. She deserved better.

Tyrion stood up and stalked out of his father's office. There was no point keeping this news from his wife, as it would disturb her even more than it did him. As he left the room, he shot an evil glare in his father's direction before navigating the castle towards Sansa's chambers. Being mid-afternoon, of course, it was perfectly possible that she wasn't there, and undertaking some leisure activity deemed appropriate for the innocent girl. Knocking on the door, he quickly discovered that she was not there, and endeavoured to find her later. It would be impertinent to disturb her if she was with Lady Margaery or some other noble woman.

He made his way to his own chamber, where he sat at his desk and opened a book. He was unaware as to which book, and could not focus on the words. All he could think of was the naivety and innocence of the girl he was supposed to fuck tonight. She was no woman, though she had bled. She was innocent to the ways of men, to the ways of war. Unfortunately, his father was learned in those ways, which was the real reason why she had been forced into this position.

Tyrion had grown up a cripple, an outcast. He never expected to be a tool to be commanded by his father in this way. No one had ever wanted him. He never expected to be married for politics. Whoever he was given to would see it as an insult. That was why he took comfort in his whores and his wine. It made him feel like someone cared. This line of thought lead him to the night he fucked his first woman. It was some whore, when he was sixteen. He was never one to even consider saving himself for marriage, mostly because he never believed he would marry.

But Sansa, she was a noble girl, who had grown up with all the correct habits and interests, taught to be the best things a woman could be. She was obedient and innocent, but had also learned, in the years since she had come to King's Landing, to understand the evils of the world. She had already been through such an ordeal, what with Joffrey's constant torment and the deaths, murders, of much of her family.

But then, perhaps it was better for him to take her, and not have his father rape her. That would scar her more. Tyrion had slept with so many whores that he knew practically everything there was to know about fucking, and he knew how be gentle with Sansa. So perhaps he was protecting her, in some twisted way.

* * *

Sansa walked through the palace gardens with Lady Margaery. Both women had been raised in a proper fashion, making them pleasurable company for each other, especially considering their shared love of King Joffrey. They chatted idly, occasionally commenting upon the beauty of the flowers, freshly opened out as the late spring turned into early summer.

Sansa spoke about her husband, sharing hushed comments about his height, or his slowly healing battle scars. Margaery spoke of her betrothal to Joffrey, and the plans for the celebrations, which would take place in a few weeks.

As the sun began to fade for the day, both women headed for their chambers to dress themselves for dinner. However, no sooner had Sansa selected a gown for that evening, there was a knock at the door.

"Sansa," the voice outside said. "It's Tyrion. May I come in?"

Quickly handing the dress to her handmaiden, she murmured, "Of course, my lord."

He pushed open the door and stumped in. He instructed the handmaiden to wait outside, as this was not something that she needed to hear.

"Sansa," he began. "I'm afraid I have some very bad news for you,"

Her eyes opened wide. What could it be? She felt rude for not saying anything, but could find no words until she knew what this news was.

"Sit," he offered, pulling a chair out for her before seating himself opposite her. There was no wine. "I have spoken to my father. He is unhappy that we have chosen to leave our marriage unconsummated for so long. He demands that a babe reside within you before the year is out. Do you understand what this means?"

She offered a feeble nod, and she was fighting to keep control of her emotions. Her cheeks were red, and a tear was forcing its way out of one eye.

He continued, "I know that I vowed never to touch you, but I also promised to protect you, and my father has threatened to do it himself if I do not. And trust me, this is no idle threat. He would rape you in a heartbeat if he believed that it would benefit the Lannister family."

He paused there, as a mist formed over her blue-grey eyes. She could not quite process what he had just told her, but she was filled with an instant dread. She really did not want to do that with Tyrion, but she would much rather do it with a man who at least cared for her than be raped by Tywin. She wanted to hate Tyrion for telling her this, but his tone was protective and genuinely concerned. So it was Tywin she really hated. Tyrion, the twisted, unwanted cripple, wasn't the worst Lannister after all.

Tyrion, who was better composed than Sansa, went outside and told the handmaiden to apologise to those at the dinner table as his wife was feeling unwell and asked her to bring their food up to Sansa's chambers. Quickly, a full platter of food was brought before them, mercifully accompanied by a jug of wine. Tyrion allowed himself only one cup. He knew that he must stay as sober as possible if he wanted to control himself properly tonight.

They sat in a companionable silence for a time following their meal, each trying to think about anything but their impending task. Finally, Tyrion stood up, reaching up to rest a comforting hand on Sansa's shoulder. She had barely touched her food, he noticed. Poor child. There was no way to make this any easier.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N A birthday treat for you all - two thousand words of smut! Hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: Still not mine.**

* * *

Sansa flinched away from the contact. Tyrion wanted to whisper into her ear, but found he could not reach, and instead whispered up to her shoulder.

"Sansa, relax. It will only make things harder if you are so tense."

Breathing heavily, she composed herself. "Yes, my lord," she whimpered, with a gentle nod.

"You needn't be so formal. I'm your husband, and we're in private. There's no need to stand on ceremony."

He reached to take her wrists, allowing her to stand up. Their height difference was laughable, but as Sansa nervously removed the pins from her hair and the jewels from her neck, it was clear that the smaller one was the wisest in this field. He removed his shirt, but decided that it might keep Sansa calmer if his manhood was concealed in his breeches, at least for now.

Sansa reached behind her to unlace the back of her dress, but fumbled with it, being unused to dressing and undressing alone. Tyrion reached up in an attempt to help, but found that he couldn't. This was another embarrassment for him, but Sansa realised that though his outer form was difficult, she couldn't have hoped to be wed to a kinder Lannister. She knelt willingly, a stark contrast to the events of her wedding, just a few short weeks ago.

Tyrion felt a glow of happiness radiating from within him, which manifested itself as a slight smile on his face. Sansa seemed to have finally gone some way toward accepting him, and some of the tension between them had slipped away. She reached down to remove her shift. All of Tyrion's instincts wanted her to more than anything. He wanted to see the naked beauty in her entirety, but some sense of, what was it, guilt, sympathy, made him stop her.

Sansa had no idea what to expect next. Her husband had just refused her naked body. What did that mean? Was she not good enough for him? That would just be hypocritical. Had he seen his own appearance?

"Not yet," he whispered, after a pause.

He led her slowly over to the bed, and nerves began to pool deep in her stomach. What if she did something wrong? She knew the basic principle of how it worked, and her mother had said that it would hurt, but was clueless as to what would actually happen, and how it would make her feel. She lay down slowly, flat on her back with her head resting on one of the pillows. Her legs were spread slightly, waiting for him to do something.

Tyrion saw her messy, fiery locks spreading from her head to the base of her back, the glimmer of nervousness in her ocean-like eyes, the rosy colour of anticipation on her cheeks, and felt blood rushing to his manhood. He climbed onto the bed, parting her legs so he could kneel between them.

Sansa wondered why he still wore breeches. Surely he had to remove them before he could do anything. But her question was answered by his whispering in her left ear.

"Let's take this slowly," he murmured, brushing his lips past hers.

She smelled amazing. The scent of lemon and sugar radiated from her entire body, and her deep breaths pushed more sweet-smelling air towards his face. More blood seemed to rush to his cock, and he felt his need rising, pushing against the stiff fabric of his breeches. His lips returned to hers, pressing against them for a moment longer this time. He brought his arms up to settle in her thick hair. It cascaded down the bed in fiery waves. He pulled his fingers through it gently, leaning down for another kiss.

His touch was gentle, soft. It became obvious that he really did care for her. The way he kissed her, slowly, taking it a tiny bit further each time. The knot of nerves began to unfurl in her stomach, and she decided to let herself go, because this clearly wasn't going to be as bad as she had thought it would. He leaned down once more, and Sansa parted her lips, and his tongue slipped inside her mouth, exploring every crevice.

She tasted amazing, like honey and lemon. He felt her lips part and finally had managed to make her let go. Though he could happily kiss her all night long, there were more pressing demands. It was time to take this further.

He trailed wet kisses down the side of her face to the base of her neck. He reached down for her arms, which still lay flat by her sides. He placed more soft kisses on her fingertips, before placing her arms on his back. Her arms stayed where he placed them, her grip on his waist now tight.

He withdrew slowly, hoping that Sansa was relaxed enough to be ready to remove her shift and show herself to him. She started in surprise when he moved off of her. He gripped the hem of her shift pushing it upwards, and realisation dawned on her as she shuffled forward to make Tyrion's task easier.

Sansa's nerves returned as he pushed the shift upwards. She had always been taught that it was improper to show her naked form to anyone, and found it hard to break all those years of learning, especially to a man so much older than her who she felt no overwhelming affection for. The nerves returned, but she did nothing to stop him. There was no point. One way or another, this had to happen, and if it wasn't the soft, moral Tyrion, it would be an angry, forceful one.

Soon, she was naked before him, a fiery goddess to his twisted human form. He desired her temple, to worship, to explore. His manhood became stiffer, harder, as she settled herself back on the bed. He wanted to just ravish her now, but he knew she was nowhere near ready yet.

He leaned down to kiss her deeply, while his hand grazed her flawless flesh, exploring her stomach and dragging his fingers up to cup one of her breasts. She felt fire beginning to pool in her stomach, and his every touch felt like a soft lick of flame. Sansa started to realise only now that he really did know what he was doing, despite his size. She hoped that any children she might bear of his would not carry the same condition as he did, if only to save their embarrassment, though, she reasoned, she would rather raise children like Tyrion that ones like Joffrey.

He squeezed her breast gently, rolling the soft flesh between his fingers. It felt so clean, unspoiled, so unlike the flesh of all of those whores he had fucked. A soft whimper escaped her lips, though she tried hard to conceal it. The high pitched sound satisfied Tyrion and he knew that he was pleasing her body at least. It only made his manhood press more determinedly against the fabric of his breeches.

His mouth moved off her lips as he shuffled down the bed. He took one of her nipples, hardened by the chill in the air, inside his mouth, sucking gently on it. This quickened the pace of her breathing and caused her to let out another series of small moans. She had to suppress the unladylike sounds her body was trying to make as he expertly sucked on her. She felt a pool of wetness gathering deep within her sex, and was disgusted by it. She only hoped that it would not put Tyrion off completely.

His mouth still on her nipple, he moved his fingers down, between her legs. Something he had done was obviously working. She was almost dripping with wetness, and he pressed his fingers into the soft folds of skin, rubbing softly, creating rough patterns in her golden hair. He felt more pleasure welling inside him, but ignored his desires. It was not his experience that mattered here. More moans escaped her lips, and he saw that she was suitably wet now.

It hurt her as he slipped a finger inside her, probing her cavern for a pleasure spot. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily through the pain. She only now noticed how her hands were lying limp beside her, and felt that she should do something with them, so she placed one in his coarse, blond-brown hair and the other on his bare shoulder. The flesh was hard, and she could feel the little muscle he had tense at the sudden contact.

He was glad that she had finally found the courage to touch him, and this made him swell with a small amount of pride, as well as pleasure. He slipped another finger inside her, causing her to moan in pain. He now began to consider how lucky he was, to be given a girl this beautiful for a wife. He did not deserve her - his battle scars, his height were enough to ensure that. The regal Lady Sansa could have suitors lined up at her door. But instead, she had been betrothed to the twat, King Joffrey, tortured, tormented by him and then forced to marry the cripple. She deserved so much better. But too soon, he would be forced to steal her innocence, take her maidenhead and plant the broken seed of a cripple deep inside of her, and force another Lannister babe into the world, at a very dangerous time.

She noticed the increased vigour which he was pushing into her with and the increased amount of pain and pleasure that came with it. The pain was manageable, and the way he subtly increased in speed seemed to minimalize the discomfort and heighten the pleasurable sensations that danced through her entire body. She had almost completely forgotten that she did not love the man who was making her feel these incredible things.

Tyrion could feel how wet she was, but was deliberately putting off the moment where he would have to do it. Seeing her writhing under his touch was so satisfying, he didn't want to turn the pleasure into pain. But this exercise would be fruitless without him spilling his seed inside her. So he slowly removed his breeches, revealing his swelled manhood to Sansa.

She gasped in surprise as she glimpsed his length. It throbbed red and purple and so big. How would he ever fit? Pleasure faded to nerves as he positioned himself at her entrance.

"Sansa," he said, breaking the silence for what seemed like the first time in hours. "Dear, sweet Sansa, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that this is going to hurt - a lot, I've been told."

She gulped, her arms dropping from his body to clutch the sheets.

"I will try to be gentle and control myself," he murmured, almost to himself. He pushed the tip inside her, and she fought the yelp that wanted to form in her throat. An intense pain settled itself between her legs, shooting painful sparks into her body. He forced himself deeper, causing tiny moans of pain to come from her lips.

She was so tight. Tyrion was struggling to get even half of his length inside her. It would be enough, as long as he could get himself to spill his seed inside of her. He pushed his hips down onto her, pushing slightly deeper within her before pulling out slightly. There was no sound of intense pain from Sansa, so he pushed in again, a little further this time. Her hips bucked involuntarily, almost causing him to lose control and pursue a faster rhythm, but he held firm, pulling out again.

The pain became slightly more bearable, as the pleasure began to return. Her body seemed to react to him impulsively, and she considered just how unladylike it was to move in this way. She had always heard of the pain that lying with a man would cause, but had never known that it would be a pleasurable experience. They always said that the marriage bed was a place for the male to satisfy himself. Tyrion seemed to care for her satisfaction more than his own. She was so glad, now, that it was Tyrion and not any other Lannister male, or female, for that matter (though that would be unnatural) who had taken her to the marriage bed.

Tyrion kept up a quickening pace, relaxing into it, hoping that he would finish quickly, though years of experience taught him that this could take some time. She bucked her hips from time to time, a clear indicator that she was enjoying it really, despite their reasons for doing it. He stared up into her beautiful eyes, and then down, at her flushed cheeks and then at her perfect tits, trying to trick himself into spilling his seed. He rested his head between her breasts, sensing their warmth, smelling their sugary scent and he felt it working. He pushed in and pulled out a few more times, at a pace which caused squeals of pain to come from Sansa, but this close to coming, he forgot to care.

As his pace quickened, Sansa knew he had lost the control he had promised to her. Though it hurt, the earlier, insistent pain had subsided into a dull ache which she assumed would continue for a few days regardless of his speed. She also felt fire in her core, a deep pleasure radiating from her sex, coursing through her entire body. She wanted to let out the most unladylike scream she could muster. This felt so good.

Sansa's body was convulsing with what Tyrion hoped was pleasure and the beauty of her instinctual movement. He knew he was close. He quickened the pace as much as he dared until he felt himself explode into her. His messy seed spilled into her, filling her cavern. He hoped, desperately, that this one event would start the growth of a child in her delicate young body. He pushed in and pulled out once again, to ensure that as much of him as possible stayed deep inside her.

Suddenly, she felt his pace slacken, and he pulled out completely, rolling off of her, panting heavily into her ear. As the daze of the event wore off, she began to feel embarrassed that she lay naked, exposed, in front of a man, even if it was her husband, whom she had just shared the most intimate of experiences with. She pulled the crumpled sheets over her, as Tyrion, still breathing heavily shuffled over, to allow her some space.

"Is it done, my lord? Am I with child now?" she whimpered, her voice unsteady as she spoke.

"Please, Sansa, call me Tyrion," he said, interrupting her naïve questions. "I'm afraid it's not that simple, sweetling. You could be, but it is unlikely. We will have to do this again, I am sorry; until you are sure you are with child."

* * *

 **A/N If you liked, please take a few moments to tell me - reviews make my day. And it is my birthday...  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Final (short) chapter, mostly just talking and thoughts to finish the story off. Sorry I haven't updated in a while - 's been down for a couple of days. Hope you enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: No, ASOIAF still isn't mine. If that changes I'll let you know.**

* * *

Sansa awakened the next morning to a ray of sunlight streaming in through the curtains that they had not bothered to shut before the events of last night. She saw Tyrion still dozing next to her, and sat on the edge of the bed, silently examining the sticky mess of blood and seed between her legs. It was disgusting, but a similar mess could be found on the bed, which proved to Tywin and the other Lannisters that they had done it, and saved her from being bedded by any other repulsive, cruel man.

She snuck out of bed and behind her dressing screen, to put on a shift and a dressing gown, which would ensure her dignity until her handmaidens came to groom her properly. By the time she came out from behind her screen, Tyrion was awake and half dressed. He gave her a small smile, and took a seat opposite her. Both were silent, neither knowing quite what to say after the happenings of last night. Finally, Sansa decided to make polite conversation.

"Good morning, my lord," she said, offering him a warm smile.

"No need to be so formal, Sansa. You are my wife, after all." he snapped, but not in an irritable way. He seemed to be in good spirits this morning, possibly because of the satisfaction he had received last night.

"I'm afraid I must apologise for my current state of appearance, my lord, Tyrion, but my normal state requires more attention than I alone can give it," she said, looking down at herself sheepishly.

"No need, no need, my dear." he began, taking in her early morning hair, which was tangled and messy, causing it to resemble fire even more than it normally did. "You still look beautiful to me."

She didn't know what to say to that, but thankfully she was spared having to reply by the arrival of her first handmaiden, who gasped when she saw Tyrion and made to curtsy.

"Good morning," he started. "I would appreciate it if you would take those dirty sheets to my father, the Hand of the King. I'm sure he will understand their significance."

The handmaiden looked stunned, and hurried to gather the stained sheets.

"Thank you," he muttered as she almost ran out of the door. The whole castle would soon know of the events of the previous night. Sansa would soon have to face the gossip about this, and the new torment of Joffrey.

Tyrion left Sansa to her thoughts as a second handmaiden walked into the room, suppressing a giggle.

* * *

"Are you happy now Father? I've done it, stolen the innocence from that young girl, who deserves so much better than me. I did it. For the sake of our family," Tyrion spat, sat across from his father at his desk. Tywin was absent-mindedly examining the ruined sheets from the marriage bed, checking that there was no deception here.

"As I said Tyrion, I will be satisfied only when a Lannister baby is born from that girl's womb. I will settle for nothing less. This will secure our family's position, our claim to Winterfell, uniting what remains of the Starks and the Lannisters for the future. "

His grey eyes were firm, and Tyrion knew better than to challenge him now. Sansa knew her place, and though he frequently challenged the boundaries of his, this was not a battle he would ever win, not now. So he stalked out of his father's office, seeking solitude and comfort in as much alcohol as that took.

* * *

 **A/N Hope you liked this story and thank you for reading and for reviewing, for those of you that did.**


End file.
